


Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Sentient Nature, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: The magic is the fire and the rage. The magic wants to come home.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



> The title is from act III, scene II of Richard II, and there are several references to the play throughout the story.  
> *  
> Thank you to [regshoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regshoe/) for beta reading.

_I dreamed the wind came to my house_  
_These are the words fell from his mouth_  
_"The King you seek you'll find him true_  
_but only if he rides the road with you"_

\- The Waterboys: [Further up, further in](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qDNaUdoSSw).

*

Once, the magic lived here, with them, among the wind and the stars and all the wild colours of the earth.

Once, they put the magic there, in the ground, upon the earth. They left it there, safe, like a secret, _their_ secret. And Richard's fingers felt like tender golden threads around Aumerle's heart, and the earth grew beneath them. And the magic felt right.

The magic turned circles in the sky and in the trees, it shone bright upon the streams, it sang deep within the mouth of the birds. The magic hid on their tongues and sank into their hands. The magic touched them. The magic bound them close together. And Richard held on to Aumerle. He held on to the earth. And the earth felt it. And the magic said it was right.

The magic heard the wind's song, and it slept easy, beneath the land. And the world was right.

*

He knew the many names of the earth. And the earth knew his. He knew the thousand spirits upon his breast. He knew the magic.

But one day, the magic left him. It didn't mean to, but it was cut away from him, like a flower, like a leaf. Like the earth within him.

And now, the world is wrong. The magic has been hurt. The magic _hurts_. The magic weeps for what has been lost.

The magic is lost. The magic wants to find itself. The magic wants to find _him_. The magic swims in the rough sea. The magic roams through the night, searching, asking _where are you, my true, sacred king? Where are you?_

The magic weeps for Richard, grieving and captive and lost within the cold and ragged prison walls, and it can't reach him. It can't reach him anymore.

And he calls out, he calls out to it, but the magic goes. And the magic doesn't kiss his hands, but it gives him its heart.

The magic whispers _this is not farewell_. And the magic walks away. There is something it needs to do.

The magic makes a promise.

*

Is this an ancient evil? Is this just the cruel passing of time? The magic doesn't know. It has someone else now, but it doesn't feel right.

But the wind whispers. And still, the magic stays.

The magic wants to fight alongside Aumerle, it wants to fight with gentle words. The magic wants to make them proud. The magic wants to come back to them. Yes, it wants to come back. The magic is the fire and the rage. The magic wants to come home.

The magic sees them from afar, a pair of carved saints in the earth. And the magic is sad, and the magic is angry. The magic leaves its tears upon the heart of the earth. And it will fight for them. It will not be gentle, it will not be gentle _now_.

The new king looks up, at the ugly, threatening clouds. He looks out, at the sea, and he sees the raging waves. Everywhere he looks, everywhere he sees the traces of magic. The magic is coming, with the fire, with the sea. The magic goes out, out to get him. Out to meet him, face to face. And he can't hold it back forever. He can't _hold_ it.

But he wants to. And he will try.

But the magic will not call him king. The magic will not give itself to him.

 _Catch me if you dare_ , the magic says.

And the magic goes. It knows that he can find his own way.

The magic has somewhere else to be, and something else to become.

*

The magic runs, and it searches, and it finally finds them. By the sea, the magic finds them, and it finds hope again. The magic finds them, hand upon hand, and heart upon heart. The magic finds itself, its heart wild and alive beneath the earth. The magic finds its true face. The magic lives and sleeps upon this land, upon this world, upon this home within them.

Here, the magic roams no more. The magic is home.

And the magic kisses them, it kisses them upon this earth. And the magic comes out of the shadows. In the new come spring, the world is alive, and the heart of the magic speaks. It speaks to _them_. The magic melts into the wind, into their heartbeat, and it brings them back. And it leads them on towards the road, on to their kingdom, on to higher ground.


End file.
